


Warm Winds Blow

by Katalyna_Rose



Series: Vhenan AU [15]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Modern Thedas, Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 03:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11455251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katalyna_Rose/pseuds/Katalyna_Rose
Summary: A collection of Modern AU drabbles that come to be on tumblr (mostly) and made their way here. Featuring Lyna/Solas and Kahlia/Zevran in a modern setting, all of them fluffy and/or smutty! Enjoy!





	1. Tea in a Coffee Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For DWC: Solavellan fluff cafe AU :) " from @roksanalysin

It was his hands. They were the culprit. Long, slender fingers, wide, warm palm, delicate wrists at odds with the muscles showing from under the sleeves of his sweater. It was the way he thanked her while looking her in the eyes. It was the way his polite smile gradually warmed as the days passed and she dared a few more words each time she handed him his order. It was the way he always used her name and showed her such unwavering respect.

It was always the same, what he asked for. A double shot of espresso, black. And then he would take it to the same little round table in the corner, set up a very fancy-looking laptop, and type away. He would completely ignore the little cup beside one glorious hand until it was nearly cold. Then, without ever looking away from his screen, he would down the whole thing in a gulp. He always made the same face every time, too, like he couldn’t believe how horrifyingly disgusting it was. His features all scrunched up, a little shake of his head, a quick little cough once it went down. Then he’d put down the tiny cup and resume ignoring it for another hour or two until he was ready to leave.

She’d time it when he came in. She’d never miss the sight of him drinking his order because she always knew how long it would take him to be ready for it. And she’d turn, no matter what she was doing, and she’d watch him drink it and she’d hide her giggle with the hissing spit of the steamer. She had no idea why he drank it when he so clearly hated it.

And he’d come in the next day, and he’d wait patiently in line, and he’d smile warmly as he came up to the counter.

“Same thing as always, Solas?” she asked with a smile. He nodded slightly.

“If you would, thank you,” he said softly.

“Why don’t you try to find a drink you actually enjoy?” she asked curiously, counting out his change from the register. He chuckled slightly.

“I need the caffeine but I hate the taste of all caffeinated beverages. It’s easier when I can get it over with quickly,” he admitted. She laughed.

“Ah, but you’ve never tried one of my famous teas!” she told him with a grin. “I grow and dry the herbs myself and no one has ever said they didn’t like it!”

His smile widened. “Do you serve them here?” he asked, and she almost dropped his change. She cleared her throat and carefully put the coins into his waiting hand, daring to brush her fingers against his palm just to feel the rough warmth. The way the corners of his eyes crinkled said he might have noticed.

“FDA laws prohibit such things,” she told him with a smile. “Like I said, I grow the tea myself and dry it myself and the FDA does not exactly perform inspections of my kitchen at home.”

“Ah,” he said gently. “What a shame. I find myself… intrigued.” She studied his face, wondering if he was laughing at her for the crush she had on him that she invariably failed to hide. She grabbed his usual little cup and went to work on his espresso, aware that her face was probably beet red. She wanted to ask him to come try one. She wanted to slip him a napkin with her number on it. She wanted to be bold and grab the marker they used on the to-go cups and write her number directly on that gorgeous hand. But she couldn’t. Fear froze her tongue.

The next day, she decided to be bold. She packed up what she thought would be the right combination of leaves and herbs from her nearly endless supply and combined it in one of her little disposable tea bags. She sealed it tightly in a plastic baggie and stashed it in her work apron. She would be bold today.

She knew when he always came in, and he was exactly on time, as ever. And she was ready. She’d timed it. Her coworkers thought she was crazy and sort of hopeless, but since she was careful about not tainting the cafe’s utensils with her mixture and the mug was her own it was allowed. She brewed the tea in the hottest water she could possibly get, steamed the milk as perfectly as she could manage, and spooned honey into the tea before she added it. She used one of the disposable stir sticks for the customers to mix it all together so that she wouldn’t contaminate anything. She topped it with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon and raw sugar. It was beautiful and she was proud of it. She hoped he’d like it.

He came up to the counter and, rather than letting him make his order, she simply handed him the cup with a shy smile. She hoped she wouldn’t regret this.

“You said you were intrigued,” she reminded him, and the surprise cleared from his face and he stopped eyeing the whipped cream as if it might pull a knife on him. He grinned at her.

“So I did,” he said, wrapping his fingers around the cup and stepping out of line without asking for his usual order. She watched nervously as he went to his usual table and set up the same as ever. But instead of ignoring the drink for ten minutes, he picked it back up the moment he was settled. He looked up and met her eyes as he raised the cup to his lips. She tried not to show how nervous she was and probably failed miserably. He maintained eye contact as he took a long sip. He kept his eyes on hers as his expression turned surprised. She watched his eyes slide to half mast and a nearly blissful smile spread on his face. He took a longer sip, then saluted her with the cup. She grinned and returned to work.

When he returned the cup to the counter, rather than simply dropping it and heading out like always, he lingered. She went over to him since there was a lull in business.

“Was it good?” she asked, ducking her head shyly when he grinned.

“It was fantastic,” he assured her. “I did not expect to ever enjoy tea, yet that was lovely. What was it?”

She picked at her apron and avoided eye contact as she told him. “It… It was black tea with lavender buds and rose petals, a single petal of hibiscus, spiced with clove and cinnamon. I didn’t grow the cinnamon stick myself, of course, but the rest of it came from my garden. Mixed with honey and steamed milk.” She shrugged, trying to downplay it. She didn’t tell him that she got the cinnamon stick directly from someone who did grow and harvest it themselves.

“You have an amazing talent,” he told her, and she felt herself flush deeper.

“It’s nothing, really,” she told him, though it had involved years of studying on her own and a lot of trial and error on blends.

“You are too modest,” he disagreed, still smiling. She looked up at him and returned it, then reached for the cup to put it with her purse in the back. His hands snaked out and grabbed hers before she could make a hasty retreat. She couldn’t contain her slight gasp as his fingers trapped hers and she felt the full power in those deceptively slender fingers. Oh, but she was very sure he could do amazing things with them, rock her entire world if he chose. Those fingers whispered of sins in the dead of night, and she flushed.

“Perhaps you might show me other… teas that you have made,” he suggested softly. She looked up from his hands and saw that his cheekbones were tinged just a little pink. He was nervous too, and that calmed her immeasurably. Enough so that she was able to grin, grab the pen for the to-go cups, and write her number on the back of his hand. They grinned at each other as she recapped the pen with a snap. He said nothing more, simply nodded and left, but her phone buzzed in her apron pocket less than five minutes later.


	2. Barefoot and Dirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW!
> 
> "Cafe au with the tea, but smut this time! Bonus points for sex amongst the tea plants in the dirt." From @thema-sal-shiral

Solas liked to help her in her greenhouse, Lyna had discovered early in their relationship. Her house was old and had been poorly maintained before she moved in, which was the only reason she could afford it. She slowly made improvements to it and kept it meticulously clean, but her real pride and joy was out back. She had saved up for years to manage it, but she’d built her own greenhouse in her backyard. The little structure took up most of what space there was and she ended up with very little lawn to mow, which suited her just fine. She worked very hard in her greenhouse to keep her plants at the peak of health.

He liked that she always worked barefoot and that she collected both her trimmings and her discarded pruning in baskets that her mother had made. He liked that she was so particular about her plants that she’d had to show him exactly how to cut them, how to prune away the parts that weren’t as healthy and how to take cuttings that she would dry and use.

He liked that she had also built a chamber to dry her plants in. She kept it in a corner of her kitchen, a metal box her father had built long ago for his own herbs that she had since improved upon. It stood as tall as her shoulder and about twice as wide and contained dozens of little rods that she would tie her bundles of trimmings to. A little mechanism in the back kept the air in there dry and hot, just the right temperature for the plants. She didn’t let them dry in the sun like a lot of people would because the sun could leech flavor out of the herbs.

Their dates were often spent in the humid greenhouse, barefoot in the dirt, working on her plants. It was nice to have help, even nicer to have company, and nicest still that it was him.

They would talk as they worked. They talked about everything, themselves, each other, work, plants, history, politics, philosophy. He was highly educated, she discovered, though he wouldn’t say how high, and she was mostly self-taught, but he valued her insight nonetheless. They respected each other.

And maybe it was silly, but the sight of those hands, those long fingers and wide palms, delicately pulling at her plants in her greenhouse using her sheers and tools would often leave her inexplicably aroused. She knew those fingers could do sinful things, but though it had been several months they had yet to progress past a few passionate kisses and light petting. And that was alright with her. He respected her and she suspected that he’d been hurt before and she didn’t mind not rushing straight to the physical. She liked to have him around, trying new tea blends out on him. She knew he’d always give his honest opinion of the blend, even if it was awful. They drank a lot of tea together, and he never seemed to tire of it.

And it was nice, she thought, that she could fall in love with his mind before she fell in love with his body. She’d had lovers before who jumped to physical affection too soon and she quickly discovered that she actually disliked them. But with Solas, it was different. She loved him for who he was, and how he would be in bed, whenever they got to that point, was less important than the mutual respect they shared.

She hadn’t told him yet that she loved him. She probably should.

* * *

“I need cuttings of the lavender,” she told him as she knelt in front of a tea bush, smiling softly. “Since it’s your favorite, I seem to be going through it rather quickly.” He chuckled slightly.

“Perhaps you should cut me off, then,” he suggested softly. He knelt in front of the lavender, which happened to be right beside her bush, and watched as she dug her toes in the loose, rich earth beneath them.

“Perish the thought!” she declared as she reached for a prime cutting. She grinned at him as she turned to drop it in the basket. “How else would I get free help in my greenhouse except to bribe you with tea?” She winked and turned back to her plant, but suddenly his hand was on her cheek and he turned her face to his so that he could devour her mouth. She gasped at the sudden contact, unexpected but never unwelcome, and melted into his gentle embrace.

“Lyna,” he whispered when he pulled back, pupils dilated with pleasure. “You only need to ask.” She blinked, trying to order her thoughts, wondering why it sounded like he was saying something else, not talking about her plants at all. Then his mouth claimed hers again and she forgot her thought.

She was still holding her pruning shears, but his hand snaked into hers and took them. She heard them drop into the basket, heard the basket move away, and she didn’t really understand what had come over him. She wound her arms around his neck and decided that she didn’t really care.

When he finally released her, they were both breathing heavily. He caressed her cheek and searched her gaze, which she was very sure was dreamy and far away, still lost in his kiss.

“What’s all this?” she finally managed to ask, voice surprisingly steady if low and husky with desire.

“I’ve been.. trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me,” he admitted, and she blinked away the haze of arousal. He sounded serious and she wondered what it meant.

She offered a smile and stared at his lips. “I’m listening, and I can offer a few suggestions,” she told him playfully and watched his lips curl. She ran her nails over his bare scalp just to see him shiver.

“I shall bear that in mind,” he told her, heat flashing in his gaze before it was tempered by an odd sort of nervousness that she couldn’t name. “For now, the best gift I can offer is.. the truth.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “You are unique,” he told her and she ducked her head a little. “In all the world, I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention the way you have. You have become important to me, more important than I could have imagined.” He paused again, that nervousness ramping up in his face.

“As you are to me,” she admitted with a smile. He returned it, features relaxing.

“I love you,” he said in a rush, and she blinked in surprise. “I have for some time. I simply… I was afraid to tell you.”

“Solas…” she began, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She grinned. “I love you, too,” she told him. “I was going to tell you, but I didn’t know how.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

“We are hopeless, are we not?” he asked her, kissing her cheek.

“Completely,” she breathed as his kisses moved lower and lower until he was nibbling her neck. She sighed and pressed herself closer to him. He pressed her back until she was laying in the dirt of her beloved greenhouse. He lay over her, hands roaming her form with far more intensity than whatever mild petting they’d engaged in before. Those sinful fingers dragged across her nipples and he moaned when he realized that she wore no bra in deference to the work and the warmth of the greenhouse. Each globe was cupped and caressed before he moved low. His hands swept across her belly, feeling the softness in the flat expanse of it. His fingers gripped her hips tightly as though he was holding on for dear life.

Her hands had not been idle as he explored her. She traced the whorls of his ears and ran her nails all across his scalp. She felt the muscles in his athletic back and dug her fingers into the soft firmness of his ass. When she pulled up his shirt and spread her fingers across his lower back, he paused and moaned and she moaned too from the silken skin under her hands.

“Protection,” he murmured against her collarbone.

“I’m on birth control,” she told him breathlessly. He nodded and bit down, making her gasp and arch up into him. His hips met hers and the glorious weight of him settled on her. She could feel the hard, hot bulge that strained for her, and he ground it against her hips once it made contact as though he couldn’t help it.

Clothes were quickly removed, so fast that she was pretty sure her panties ended up on a rose bush some distance away. He simply tore them from her, eager to get to the skin beneath. Once there, however, he slowed, his movements becoming almost worshipful as he kissed every inch of skin she had, tongue dragging across her slowly, until she was writhing beneath him.

“Solas,” she pleaded in a whisper, and those sinful fingers found her core. He groaned against the mouthful of her thigh he had between his teeth when he found her dripping for him already. He sucked her skin a little harder before releasing it with a pop that stung slightly. She would bear the marks of his mouth for days to come, all of them in places she could hide, and she loved that. Their little secret painted on her body.

His fingers circled the hard little bud that begged for his attention and she cried out desperately and lifted her hips. “Shh,” he soothed, his warm hand spreading across her stomach to hold her gently down as the fingers of his other hand set to work torturing her clit with slow, gentle strokes. Her nails raked his scalp, her body writhing under his touch, and she made another high, desperate noise.

“Ah, Solas!” she cried, all but curling into herself as he finally thrust a finger inside. It was filling, beautiful, perfect, and not nearly enough as he slowly pumped it in and out. Then he curled that finger as sinfully as she had known he could and found the perfect spot inside and she screamed as she came in an instant. Still he tickled that spot, keeping her body hungry, and she thrashed and called out to him and begged for more and to stop and to never stop, until, all at once, she was undone. Her orgasm had grown and grown under his talented touch until it was too much, too much pressure, and she screamed and every muscle she had seized up as liquid sprayed from between her legs in mind shattering ecstasy. She thought she heard his ragged groan as he continued to curl that finger and his thumb kept torturing her clit, but she was so lost in it that she didn’t even know which way was up.

Consciousness returned slowly, and first she was aware of the dirt, warm and moist beneath her, and the humid air of her greenhouse. Next she was aware of gentle butterfly kisses on her belly that calmed the muscles that still spasmed there. Her heart thudded loud in her ears, breath so quick it was like she’d run a marathon. And Solas still sprawled between her legs, a patch of wet earth under his chest.

He looked up and met her eyes as the final tremors subsided into a light shiver. “Beautiful,” he said, voice low and rough and broken with lust, storm blue eyes swallowed by black pupils and lust. And she needed him. Even after he had just wrought the most ridiculously shattering orgasm she’d ever experienced from her, she needed him inside her.

“Please,” she whispered, voice hoarse from screaming. What must the neighbors think? She pulled at him weakly and decided she didn’t care at all. He chuckled and obeyed, crawling the length of her body to take her lips in a searing kiss.

“You do not have to,” he breathed into her mouth. “I am more than satisfied by what we just did.” She glanced down and saw that there was, indeed, a puddle of white where he had lain, but she also saw that he was growing hard once more so soon. She slipped a hand between them and grabbed him. He groaned and filled out a little more in her palm.

“I want to,” she assured him. “If you do.” He nodded wordlessly and kissed her again.

“I need you,” she whispered, and he grew even more as she caressed him. She teased her lips against his, still catching her breath. She rolled his foreskin back with her thumb and swiped a finger across the crown to make him moan.

He was hard as rock in her hands in mere moments, his need not satisfied yet, just like her. He pulled out of her hand and poised himself at her entrance. He paused and met her eyes, asking again for permission. She clutched at his shoulders and tilted her hips up and he smiled as he slowly sank into her.

She moaned and shuddered, overwrought nerves flooded with sensation. It was almost too much, the pleasure nearly painful, but he sheathed himself to the hilt and stopped, waited. And quickly the need overrode the nearly painful stimulation and she bucked her hips up against his, ankles crossed behind his back to give her leverage. He moaned and took over the rhythm, slowly at first but with increasing urgency until he was pounding into her in time to the beat of their hearts. They moved in tandem, her thrusting up and him pounding down, and the intimacy was intense, their mouths locked together for most of it.

His arms slipped behind her hips and tilted her just so and each and every thrust pressed him hard against that perfect little spot that made her see stars. She spasmed within, gripping him tight as she cried out, and he moaned to feel it.

“Yes, Lyna, yes,” he breathed like a prayer against her neck. Both of them covered in sweat and dirt, the soft earth of the ground cushioning each punishing stroke of his hips against hers. She loved it, primal and unrestrained, making love in her favorite place, where her home truly lay, among the plants that were her family. She was plowed through the dirt, his thrusts forcing her up, and he crawled to follow, unwilling to allow her to escape, unwilling to relinquish their connection.

“Solas,” she groaned, hovering on the razor’s edge of orgasm, and he tilted her hips just a fraction of an inch and his next thrust sent her over. She clawed his back and screamed for him, his name, her love, wordless sounds of love and ecstasy. Just a few more pumps of his hips finished him as well, and his movement stuttered as he followed her into pleasure with a shout.

When it was over he rolled off of her and she followed, pillowing herself on his chest. His arms wrapped around her loosely and he pressed lazy kissed to her sweaty forehead as they caught their breath.

“What are the odds of making it to your back door without being seen?” he asked her a while later. She looked up at him, bleary-eyed and nearly asleep, her legs like rubber.

“Don’ thin’ I c’n move,” she slurred, her first orgasm having drained most of her energy and the subsequent fucking draining the last of it. He chuckled and curled a finger under her chin to kiss her. She sighed against his lips, perfectly sated.

“Then I think I will have to attempt to carry you to the bathroom,” he told her. “If your neighbors see anything scandalizing then hopefully they will have the decency not to mention it.” She smiled lazily at him, grateful for his thoughtfulness. There was no way at all that she was capable of movement in that moment, all her bones turned to water and her legs to rubber. She would have slept there if he didn’t scoop her up into his arms and carry her quickly through her back door. He even sat her in the shower and washed away the dirt and sweat for her. He toweled her off once they were both clean and laid her, naked, in bed. He curled himself around her limp and boneless form, and she fell asleep listening to the sound of his heart beating under her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, bet I scared you with the Crestwood scene references! But no, this is a cafe AU, and that means it’s fluffy as it can possibly be and SOLAS DOESN’T HAVE TO LEAVE DAMN IT, so it was just a tease! :D


	3. Magnetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://elfsplaining.tumblr.com/post/161975455490/a-little-bit-of-poetry-for-your-sunday-afternoon
> 
> ‘she is a goddess to me  
> my sun and my moon  
> a luscious garden of beauty  
> my ship through the storm
> 
> and dat butt  
> hot’

They kept word magnets on the fridge. Maybe it was childish, but it was also incredibly convenient. They kept their grocery list on the fridge until it was time to go shopping and they left notes for each other when one of them was going to be late or they needed to remember to say something. When one of Lyna’s students needed last-minute tutoring she’d leave a note with the magnets. When Solas suddenly had to go on a business trip he’d tell her there.

And, of course, Solas kept the magnets arranged in alphabetical order in the little magnetic cup they were kept in. Anything less would be atrocious! She liked to tease him about it, but in truth if he didn’t organize them then she would. Not that she’d admit it!

And sometimes they’d use the magnets to leave little love notes or tease each other. After all, they both had a way with words. Lyna was a professor of History and Literature, after all. She didn’t know exactly what was required of Solas by the CIA, but she knew he loved history and language about as much as she did. So sometimes she’d get home and be ready to break out the white wine and a sappy movie because he’d called to let her know he was getting on a plane and she’d be on her own for a week or two and find a little message to buoy her spirits until he came home at last.

That was exactly what happened once again, though this time the message was a little unusual.

“I’m sorry, vhenan, I got the call less than an hour ago,” Solas told her over the phone. She tucked her cell between her shoulder and cheek as she sorted through her keys one-handed until she found the one for the front door. “It was a miracle I even made the flight.”

“No, I know that,” she told him, trying to keep her disappointment out of her tone as she set down the shopping bag of cheap champagne and expensive strawberries just inside the door. She should have known better than to try to surprise him. “I just hate that you’ll be gone for two weeks at best.”

“Ir abelas, vhenan,” he murmured into the phone, his voice low and filled with regret. Her mouth twisted with her guilt.

“Tel’abelas,” she told him sincerely. “At least it means they won’t call you away again for three months!” She really was excited for that and tried to show him with her tone. “We can Skype when I’m not in class and text when I am. The usual deal. It’ll be fine.”

“I still wish I was at home with you,” he murmured, his voice like satin even through the static of the cell phone.

“You could quit and find a different job,” she said impulsively, then bit her lip. She knew how important he viewed his work and she didn’t want to be one of those women who abandoned a good man just because he wasn’t always at her beck and call. She heard him sigh heavily through the receiver. “Nevermind,” she told him quickly. “Anyway, I’ll have a surprise waiting when you get home! Be sure to tell me when you get on your plane to come back to me.” It wouldn’t be the same champagne and strawberries currently in her hands as she toed off her shoes before heading to the kitchen, but those two items would be involved. So would whipped cream. And a lot of lace.

“Always, vhenan.” There was a smile in his voice. She heard, in the background, an unintelligible voice over an intercom announcing flight departures and the unmistakable sound of Solas gathering his bags. “Ah, my gate is open,” he told her, already sounding distracted as he went over his to-do lists in his head.

“Have a safe trip, then, my love. Ar lath ma,” she reminded him with a smile.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he replied. The line went silent, indicating that he’d hung up. She sighed heavily and eyed the bottle in her hand as she padded toward the kitchen. It probably wouldn’t last the night. Her secret stash of self-indulgent rom coms would get a huge bite taken out, too. She sighed again as she considered the merits of drinking out of a glass like the lady she’d become versus not doing dishes and drinking out of the bottle like the trailer trash she’d been born as she reached to open the fridge so she could chill the champagne at least a little before drinking it like the lush she became when Solas was away.

She stopped and gasped because despite having been given about twenty minutes in which to pack and get himself to the airport, Solas had still found time to leave her a poem in fridge magnets. She clutched the bottle to her chest as she read.

 

_‘she is a goddess to me_

_my sun and my moon_

_a luscious garden of beauty_

_my ship through the storm_

_and dat butt_

_hot’_

She leaned against the fridge and laughed until she cried, pressing her forehead against the sharp edges of the magnets. She kissed the final word of his poem.

“Oh, vhenan, I could not love you more,” she told the fridge and their shared jokes. She decided the champagne could wait until tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does Solas work for the CIA? I don’t know, it just made sense. His secrets have secrets and he’d be under cover a lot and there are prolonged absences and it’s almost three in the morning and it just made sens- SHUT UP.
> 
> A great big shout out to @elfsplaining‘s picture of this poem in fridge magnet form. Because everything that isn’t a writing prompt becomes a writing prompt to me. Why am I like this? I have prompts in my inbox, damn it!
> 
> I'm not actually happy with CIA Solas. It doesn't fit... If I ever expand on this little tidbit I'll change his profession. Still something secretive and whatnot, but not CIA. The God of Rebellion doesn't work for The Man...


	4. Aquarium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Aquarium date prompt for Zev/Kahlia? " from @threeofclanlavellan

“I’m gonna eat it,” Kahlia muttered, one side of her mouth quirked up while Zevran shook with silent laughter.

“It is only swimming around in its tank, amor. It hasn’t done anything to you,” he said softly, voice trembling. “Why would you eat it?”

“It’s like sushi,” she insisted. “I’m gonna eat it.”

“Sushi is usually dead first, no?” Zev admonished, but his eyes were watering with laughter.

“Not always,” she replied, her eyes never leaving the tiny squid in the tank though he could feel all her attention on him. “I’m gonna eat it,” she said again, and reached forward slowly. Zev moved and grabbed her hand gently, twining their fingers together, careful not to trap her.

“Why must the squid die?” he asked, kissing the corner of mouth that was quirked up and feeling it climb a little higher under his lips.

“It’s mocking me,” she muttered darkly, but her eyes had started dancing.

“It is swimming, amor,” he told her, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“But it’s swimming like _that,”_ Kahlia told him with a mocking pout.

“Leave it be, amor,” he scolded, having a hard time holding in his laughter. She exaggerated her pout.

“Fine,” she finally declared, crossing her arms over her chest. Zevran finally let loose his laughter and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He kissed the tip of her pointed ear and the piercing that always held the earring he’d given her, and she allowed herself to smile.

Just then a small child, perhaps six years old, ran past and collided with Kahlia’s legs. Zevran froze as instinctive fear widened her eyes and tensed her muscles before awareness returned to her gaze. He watched her take a deep breath and turn to the child, a human girl who was still sitting on her butt on the floor and whimpering, and offer a gentle smile.

“Did you get hurt?” she asked softly, offering a hand. The child took it and allowed Kahlia to pull her to her feet. “Are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” the girl said, clearly trying to be brave as she rubbed her elbow where she must have fallen on it.

“Are you sure?” Kahlia asked again and the girl nodded. “Where are you parents? Who did you come here with?” she asked next as she gently took over massaging the hurt limb. The child’s tense look of pain quickly smoothed over into relief and Zevran felt his chest swell with love for this woman, who was so damaged she could be spooked by a stranger brushing past her on the subway and even a small and clumsy child but who would offer compassion anyway.

“My mama is here,” the girl said softly, looking around with a frown. “But I don’t see her.”

“Where did you see her last?” Kahlia asked gently, her face friendly and open. The little girl stared intently at the scar on her chin and the one that crossed her nose and tugged her brow and reached into her hairline. When the child reached out suddenly he saw the way she tensed but she did not move. Her hand in his tightened reflexively and he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand soothingly. And she stood there and allowed this curious and innocent child to touch the scar on her chin, given to her by the worst sort of monster Thedas had to offer.

Once the girl was satisfied, she dropped her hand. “She was over by… by the sharks,” the girl admitted softly. Zev felt his brows shoot up.

“That’s almost halfway across the aquarium from here,” Kahlia told the girl. “Did you run all this way on your own?” The girl scuffed a foot and didn’t answer. “How about this,” Kahlia said after a moment. “We’ll take you to the information desk and they’ll call for your mama over the intercom. She must be worried sick looking for you.”

“I’m not s’posta go with strangers,” the girl said, and Kahlia grinned.

“That’s good,” she said with a nod. “But how will you find your mama if you stay here?”

“I’ll go to the information desk,” the girl said with a definitive nod.

“There you are!” came the overly loud yell from a harried-looking woman, trotting to them.

“Mama!” the little girl yelled, face lighting up. The woman scooped up her daughter and started chastising her immediately. Kahlia began to step away, seemingly ignored, when the woman turned to her.

“Knife-eared bitch!” she spat. “Keep away from my daughter or I’ll call the police!” Kahlia cringed from the woman’s venom, unable to adjust quickly enough from compassion for the child to vitriol for the mother to defend herself.

“But mama, she was nice to me!” the girl cried. Zevran pulled Kahlia into his arms, glaring daggers at the neglectful mother.

“Perhaps _we_ should call the police on _you,”_ he said harshly to the mother. “Allowing your child to wander a public place without supervision is called neglect, you know. Are you aware of the concept of sex trafficking?” The woman flinched. So did Kahlia, but it was more subtle and he held her tightly to calm her, reminding her that he would always protect her. “Your little girl is at an age that she might be targeted. Such a pretty little thing.” He clucked in sympathy and shook his head. “Fortunately for you both, she was instead found by a lovely young woman who wanted to guide her to information desk so that the staff of this aquarium might call for you to find her, rather than the sort of monster that would kidnap a small child and train her to please whoever paid the most money for her. Though from what I understand, there are those who prefer it when a little girl fights.”

“How dare you-” the mother began to spit in her rage, but Zevran cut her off.

“The woman you are currently threatening, however, was not so fortunate,” he announced. He was aware in his periphery that they had acquired something of a crowd. He knew it was somewhat cruel to Kahlia to allow her to be the center of attention like this, but he couldn’t stand this woman’s attitude. He adjusted his grip on Kahlia, keeping her surrounded by his arms while making sure his grip was in no way sexual and she could break it easily at any time if she needed to. “How many women, do you think, are lucky enough to get free as she has? How do you think your daughter would fare? Perhaps instead of accusing any elf kind enough to attempt to help your child simply for being an elf, you should instead worry more about the real dangers and thank the person who was, at the moment, doing a better job of protecting your daughter from them than you were.” And with that, he turned away, head held high and his arm wrapped protectively around Kahlia. The crowd they’d gathered cheered, and he knew it was a moment that the woman would not soon forget.

He turned them down an empty hall and stopped. He released Kahlia and turned her to look at him.

“Are you alright?” he asked worriedly. “I am sorry, amor, that was rash of me.”

She looked up at him and he knew it was a good sign that she could meet his eyes, that she wasn’t falling into a flashback. He was assessing her for other danger signs when she suddenly threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, something she would never do if she was in a delicate state.

“That was amazing, Zev,” she whispered, and he heard the tears in her voice. He sighed heavily and held her close.

“You are too good for the likes of her,” he murmured into her tightly-pinned hair. He nuzzled it until a few wild strands poked out and smiled at their disarray.

“Ar lath ma,” Kahlia whispered to him.

“I know,” he said smugly, and reveled in her watery chuckle. “Te amo.” Her arms tightened around him.


	5. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Modern AU. Whichever pair you feel like. Do it!  
> 27\. “You are not wearing that to dinner with my parents.” " from @fatale-distraction

“Vhenan! Are you ready yet?” Lyna called from the living room, pacing again. She was going to ruin her new shoes at this rate. She muttered to herself, “It’s not like you’re doing your hair.”

“I heard that, vhenan!” Solas yelled back from the bathroom, his tone caught between amused and irritated. She smiled to herself, pleased to gotten a rise out of him.

“What are you even doing? We’re going to be late!” she asked instead of needling him further, scuffing her stiletto heel on the hardwood of the foyer. She was still having trouble getting used to the expense of the house he’d convinced her to move into and she nearly dropped to her knees, damn her tiny dress, and scrubbed at the scuff mark she made then and there. Instead she bit her lip and forced herself to leave it, consoling herself that she’d take care of it the next morning.

Finally, Solas came out of bathroom, the _marble_ bathroom with the _clawfoot tub_ and _twin sinks_ and _stupidly large shower_. This house was just too much for someone who grew up in a single wide trailer, meticulously clean though it was.

Once she managed to refocus her thoughts from the _actual mansion_ she was living in to the man who shared it with her, she stopped dead and nearly choked. “Solas,” she tried to say, but all that came out was a strangled croak. He looked up from straightening his cuff links with a frown.

“What is it, vhenan?” he asked, looking down at the _literal tuxedo_ he was wearing. “Is it stained?”

“You… You are not wearing that to dinner with my parents!” she finally cried. He scowled.

“Why?” he asked suspiciously, as though he expected to have a bucket of something nasty dropped on him if he made the attempt. Although, knowing some of her old neighbors…

Lyna pinched the bridge of her nose. “I grew up in a trailer, ma sa’lath,” she said, trying for patience and mostly failing. “It is a trailer that my mother still owns. And it is where we are going to eat tonight. You can’t wear _a tuxedo_ to eat _my step-mother’s cooking_ in a _trailer!”_ Her voice rose in pitch and volume until she was practically shrieking her panic at the end. His scowl smoothed into something akin to shock.

“I… I didn’t think of that,” he finally admitted. “I thought only to impress your mothers…” She sighed and nearly rubbed her face before remembering that she was actually wearing makeup. Getting used to dating someone with wealth was a long journey, and she was only grateful that he preferred to ignore the ridiculous sum of money in their shared bank account for the most part, beyond a few small luxuries. Like the house. And the tux. Oh, sweet Creators, the man was a walking contradiction.

“My mothers will be impressed if you show up in something with fewer than three holes that’s been washed this month,” she admitted, considerably calmer.

Solas raised a brow at her and raked his gaze from the tips of her shod toes all the way up to the top of her styled head, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his glance. “And yet are wearing that?” She narrowed her eyes at him; she knew his game but she couldn’t help but fall into his trap. The bait was just too sweet.

“You find it objectionable?” she asked, false acid in her tone. He allowed one corner of his mouth to curl up as his entire posture shifted just slightly until everything about him was predatory and she his prey.

He stalked her, the heels of his too-shiny shoes clacking on the hardwood, his eyes never leaving her face. He prowled until he was mere inches from her, the heat of his body radiating out to hers. She had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes and shivered at the possessive quality in their depths. A single finger trailed so lightly over the violet velvet of the sash that hung low on her hips up the cream-colored satin of her dress to tease the underside of her breast, the lace of her bra only amplifying the touch, up around the globe to the thin strap on her slim shoulder to rest on the pulse point in her neck. She knew he could feel the sudden hammering of her heart, had stopped his touch there deliberately.

“I find it _divine,_ ” he breathed into her ear, causing her to shiver hard and heat to pool in her belly. He grinned, predatory and pleased. “And I find it entirely unfair that such beauty may adorn you while you insist that I must continue to look like a poor hobo.” She sputtered and coughed and he grinned.

“I said no such thing!” she finally managed to spit out. “Look, lose the jacket, wear that green button up I got you last Satinalia, and change your shoes to the slightly scuffed ones you wear when you intimidate your agents, alright? Is that a fair compromise?” He sighed dejectedly, but she could tell it was only feigned. He picked up a curling lock of her white blonde hair and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, then brought it to his face and breathed deeply of its scent. She shivered again.

“Ma nuvenin, vhenan,” he said, his voice raspy with desire as he released her hair and sauntered back to the bedroom. She had to lean against the front door to keep herself from collapsing on knees suddenly turned to water. After a moment, she decided to scrub away the scuff from her heel right now to force her knees to cooperate once more.


End file.
